


mine, yours, ours

by followsrabbit



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 16:38:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followsrabbit/pseuds/followsrabbit
Summary: They've always liked staying in bed.





	mine, yours, ours

Noora cannot remember the last time she spent this much time in bed. Hours upon consecutive hours that turn into days.

(This is a lie. It was with William, back in London, breaking in the new oversized bed in their new flat before everything went to hell.)

Lying on her side, dressed only in William’s sheets, Noora nestles one cheek against her pillow as William strokes the other with his knuckles, then with his lips. When he says, “I can’t believe you thought I stopped loving you,” she can feel the letters restless on her skin.

He can probably feel the red heat devouring her cheeks. “William…” she stares helplessly at him—his gaze is as intense as she remembers, impossible to penetrate or break without the proper tools and willpower; she lacks both right now—before tracing her fingertips along his shoulder. “Everything got so messy.” His neck. “I didn’t know what to think.” His jaw. “And I’m used to people wanting me to leave, so...” _Used to my parents wanting me to leave_ goes unsaid, already said, but he nods anyway, hears it anyway.

“Never.” A slow sigh sounds from the depths of his throat; she feels it weighing down her own stomach. She hates that she almost added herself to the list of women he’s lost.

Noora smooths her palm along one of William’s cheekbones. “Me neither.”       

“So it’s settled.” He leans in to slide his lips against hers, a peck that turns into a kiss that turns into a brand. “We’re together.” Another kiss, just as fast and hard and decisive. “We’re staying together.”

“So--” she hates to bring this up while William is mapping her face with his mouth, chasing away all the shadows and dark circles, but “--you’re not together with anyone else?”

William's lips freeze on her forehead. A moment later, he’s pulled himself far enough away to meet her gaze. “ _No_.”

“In London?” she says, then swallows to get rid of the dryness seeping down her throat. “Eva said…” Another swallow. “Well, she said that Chris said…”

The hard, confused lines on William’s face break with an eye roll. “Chris,” he mutters, before tugging her to him once more, molding his body to hers. “I tried dating, a few months ago, when I thought you wanted me to stay away from you. It was miserable.” His chin touches hers. Noora breathes easier.

“That bad?” she manages to tease. (For all of the things she’s missed about William, all of the smiles and loyalty and touches and love she’s spent the last eight months dwelling on, she almost forgot how much she’s missed teasing him.)

“Horrible.” He kneads his fingertips across her bare shoulder blades, massaging every bit of tension that has held her back rigid for _weeks_. “She was all wrong.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. She went the whole meal without calling me a cliché once.”

Rumpled blonde hair brushes past Noora’s eyes as she buries her forehead in William’s neck. “Horrible,” she agrees against his warm skin, before biting, before kissing. They carry on like that, silent for a few moments as William moves his fingers up and down her back and Noora tracks her lips down and up his neck.

“And you?” His palms splay along the small of her back. “You’re not dating anyone else?”

“ _No_.” An immediate, rasp of a laugh, an immediate shake of her head. “Despite my friends' best efforts.”

She can feel the width of his smile. “You missed me.”

According to their routine, their usual banter, she should say _no_ here, even as she smiles otherwise, but Noora can only breathe, “Yes.” And then for honesty’s sake… “Even when I tried wanting someone else, it didn’t work.”

He makes a noise against her temple that sounds like _good_ before wrapping his hands around her hips, before pulling her even closer. She can feel his heart beating against her chest, can feel every toned inch of him, can feel his hardness, can feel all of him.

“Always you and me,” Noora murmurs as she hooks her legs around his. “Okay?”

William uses more than words to answer.

* * *

 It’s possible that they’re getting pizza grease stains on William’s bed. Even the suspicion of stains should drive her out of bed and into a cleaning spree, _would have_ not so long ago, but instead…

Grabbing a wad of napkins from the bedside table, Noora just spreads them out around their plates as William pushes a square of just-delivered veggie pizza against her lips. She nibbles at a pepper, then plucks the slice from his grasp. “We should be eating in the kitchen,” she chides. 

William grabs a slice of his own, answers, “No, we shouldn’t,” and then takes a bite that leaves his mouth specked with tomato sauce. His eyes linger on the t-shirt currently swallowing her from collarbone to hips; his.

“We’re getting pizza all over your sheets!”

Another bite. A twitch of his lips. “We’re getting pizza all over the plates and napkins.” Another twitched smile.

Noora swats a hand against his shoulder. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes.” His next kiss tastes like mozzarella. “I fucking missed you.”

They make it through almost the whole meal without staining anything with tomato sauce.

(William drags himself up to start changing the sheets with her before she’s fully out of bed herself. “Selfish purposes.” He pulls the other end of the new fitted sheet around one corner of their mattress. “If I’m going to convince you to stay in bed with me all week, we’re going to need clean sheets.”)

* * *

William gives her a deadpan look when she describes sleeping on the floor of her flat some nights after she got back from London. “You still had a key here,” he says, “and you slept on a hallway floor.”

Sitting against the headboard with her knees folded to her chest, Noora rolls her eyes. “I thought you’d have rented it out!”

William’s hands have been tangled in her hair for the past fifteen minutes, and seem to have lost themselves completely. “Why would I do that?”

Because this penthouse, the one they’d moved into after William had sold his first and all its bad memories, was beautiful, because it was expensive, because he could have gotten plenty of money for it.

William just shakes her head when she articulates all of this. “Yes. And it’s ours.”

And she could argue, could say that keeping this flat unused was a waste of money and time and space, could make any number of very practical arguments.

Noora knots her fingers with his.

(This flat is every memory of their honeymoon period in Oslo last summer, after all the drama of the school year, before all the drama of London. She likes knowing that it’s still just theirs too.)

* * *

Early Monday morning, her phone shrills its usual alarm for school.

Noora sighs, reaches for her phone, turns the alarm off altogether, and then sinks back into William’s arms.

Sleep thickens his voice when he murmurs, “School?” among her hair.

Noora shakes her head into his chest, his easy heartbeat. “I’m not going.”

His arms hook tight around her waist, as if he’d like to physically hold her to that. “Noora Amalie Sætre missing school? To spend the day with her boyfriend?” His lips skim her forehead in mock surprise.

“My boyfriend is very persuasive.”

“He should meet my girlfriend. Smart, stubborn girl.”

Her smile gives way to laughter that he can no doubt feel reverberating against his collarbone. “You’re…”

He peers down at her, giving her just enough space to meet his arched glance. “The biggest cliché you’ve ever met?”

Leaning up, Noora brushes her nose with his as she shakes her head again. “A dork,” she says against his lips.

He licks, nibbles, scorches the word from her tongue. “You don’t mean that.”

“No.” She tugs his lower lip between her teeth. “I do.”

It’s a while before William tears his mouth from hers long enough to ask, “Do you know what you are?”

He’s already kissing his way from her jaw to her neck when she says, “What?”

William’s fingers close around her waist, gentle and guitar-string-callused. “So, ” he says, kissing the dip just above her shoulder, “fucking,” kissing the light freckles dotting her shoulder, “beautiful,” kissing the ridge of her collarbone, “brilliant,” kissing the heave of her breast, “mine.”

Noora’s head arcs back, her hips grind against his, and her hands curl tight into his hair. “Then you’re mine," she says through a decidedly dorky smile.

(She definitely hears him say _good_ this time, just before he moves his attention down to her stomach.)


End file.
